A scene from Glasgow
by 2whitie
Summary: Conor couldn't give up flying, it was addicitng. Going to univestity didn't change anything. A Oneshot. Poor neighbors. They might need to fix thier roof.
1. Chapter 1

My first Airman fic. I normally write for Artemis Fowl, but I love this book, and writing is addicting.

Disclaimer: Who thinks I own airman? Comon, it's a free country, no harm in voicing opinions…

*Five hands go up*

2wh immediately hits them all over the head with the dumb stick, hoping that ut might have the i\opposite effect. The logic is clearly flawed.

Paperclip: You said no harm would come…*watches a person stumble by, drooling

2wh: Nothing fatal!

This is a short little something that takes place after the fight with bonvilain. Enjoy!

P.S: Did anyone besides me notice that Eion Colfers sons are named Finn and Sean? Conor FINN? SEAN broekheart?

Greg stared at the flying device.

"Cool" was the smartest thing he had to say.

Greg, like Conor, was enrolled at Glasgow University. He didn't know what to say to his roommate, Conor. He was a mathematician. Other people mostly brought blueprints for flying machines to him; they didn't show him the flying machine itself.

Conor smirked. He then started strapping on the device.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, do you want a demonstration?"

Greg didn't know what to say. "The tests…."

Again, Conor smirked. "Already done."

He then kicked open the window, and jumped.

Greg rushed to the window, but he saw nothing buy sky, sea, and air.

…

Conor tipped the nose of his deice up. He had long mastered flying upwards into drafts, and it rose soundlessly, and gently. He started to relax, letting the surrounding elements overtake him. He was thrown back into reality, by a low cloud's chill. He immediately leveled out, and lowered the nose. He had always worried the Bonvilain really had survived. He would not be hard to find. He was the talk of the school. He was from Ireland, (Which had the girls swooning), he had a fearsome tattoo, he was skilled in weaponry, Someone had started a rumor that he was member of the royal family, and he stills seemed to be ahead of everyone if the classes. He always looked forward to Friday nights. Everyone had gone home, and he could grab his contraption and fly around the US. It still amazed him, all the lights. Ireland had nothing of the sort, although he missed the green hills sometimes. At least he could still see the sea.

He sniffed, and he smelled a storm coming on. Better sfae than sorry. He looked around for a good landing spot, but he was above a group of houses. He sighed, and heard thunder in the distance. Someone was going to have their weekend ruined. He guessed he could coffer to help them fix their roof. Suddenly a huge gust caught his rig, and sent it spinning out of control. Colors, land, it all seemed like an impressionist painting. He gritted his teeth, fighting panic. He pulled his wings close in, and spiraled down, fast, searching for a wind going the opposite direction. He couldn't feel anything.

He vaguely noticed a tree blowing in the opposite direction, and then realized he wouldn't be able to feel anything at all anyway, riding this kind of draft. He tipped the nose forward, and stretched one wind to try to switch drafts. It worked, with Conor leaning to one side, but the change in speed shot him high into the air. Good thing too, when his rig was shaped like a javelin, he flew too fast, aiming at the ground.

He gained control, and gained his bearings. He drifted noiselessly down, turned around, something he needed to work one, and found a roof. It wasn't as flat as he would have liked, but the drop of rain on his cheek dispelled all thought like that. He needed to land. Now.

He pulled up his wings so he was almost vertical, and came crashing down on the roof, sending tiles flying, and adding a few cuts to his body. He was sliding forward on the roof in the most undignified position, and grabbed an iron headlamp; just another gust almost sent him spinning into the atmosphere. He grabbed it, and pulled down to send himself to the ground. A light turned on in the house.

Ooopsie.

He yanked down one more time, but the gust sent him flying into their tree. He was going to have a field day with this family explaining thing. The door opened, and a head stuck out.

Conor had no experience in this kind of situation, so he set the nose down, and glided gently toward the ground, and shrugged the rig off.

"CONOR?"

Ahh.

Rylee Parkins. A girl from his class. This night was getting better and better.

"Ah. Rylee. Sorry for interrupting your evening like this, but I got caught in a storm, and…"

He stopped, realizing how stupid that sounded.

She took one look at him and dragged him inside.

….

After explaining the entire story, from when e jumped out of the window, He coughed. The story had taken more out of them than it should have, and flying in the storm was exhausting. Half way through, her parents listened in.

Suddenly she stood up, fingering, the A symbol around his chest, He had another one made after his fight with Bonvilain.

"What's this?"

Conor was suddenly uncomfortable. "Its ahh.."

"It's the Airman symbol isn't it?"

He looked sharply up at her father, who had spoken.

"How do you know that?"

The Father looked at him with a weird look.

"My cousin is a guard on the saltee islands. He is recovering from a bullet wound to the foot. Another idiot shot him, chasing an Airman who broke into the island, took out multiple armed guards, stole diamonds, and just disappeared after leading the guards into a merry chase around the island, into the sky, with the same symbol. The he turns up overthrowing a major ruler in the Ireland area."

Conor had a few option. Whistle, and look at he ceiling, or give some random detail confirming it, and change the subject. He chose option two.

"The guard with the gun was screaming like a little girl. Personally, I thought it was funny. Do you want me to help fix the roof? I landed awkwardly, the storm messed with my landing."

The entire family just blinked. In 2.5 seconds, the questions would come.

"Ill come tomorrow with more tiles."

With that, he winked, thanked them, and walked out the front door. When they looked, they saw nothing but sea, sky, and air.


	2. Chapter 2

Yes, I know I marked it as complete, but I had a very nice reviewer ask for something else. Plus, I need a break from my Artemis Fowl stories, a break until my birthday. (one incomplete with lots of followers, one that stinks and needs to be rewritten, and another one that also stinks and needs to be rewritten)

So, another scene from Glasgow.

-2whitie

Disclaimer: Really?

I feel awful. I re-read the awesome ending, and now I'm confused to where exactly Glasgow is, until I stopped being a stupid person I found out it wasn't in the US like I stated in my earlier chapter. So for this story, let's assume he's in a school in America with other flying-obsessed people.

Conor smiled at a man passing by. He had decided to go flying again tonight after being shut up in a stuffy room all day, and he needed to unwind. He had checked the weather, and he was coming back from looking for potential landing spots. Testing was not made any easier by having Rylee staring at him all week like he might turn invisible or shoot lightning bolts at everyone, so he found as wide patch of high grass away from houses.

He turned and ran up the academy steps and ducked into the stairwell, where the wall of musty air hit him. It seemed to affect him, because he slowed down. He pushed his blond hair out of the way, and used his free hand to push open the door to his room. His roommate was out with a friend, said something about a beer, so Conor didn't have to stuff himself under the bed to change into his Airman uniform.

He slipped on the streamlined uniform and pushed the goggles over his head. On second thought he pulled his cap and goggles off. About twenty minutes until it was fully dark,, he might as well eat.

He stuffed a roll down hi throat, and chewing, opened the window. It was getting darker than expected. Perfect. He slipped his cap on and carefully put the goggles over his eyes.

Dragging the glider out from under the bed, he tested the wind with a licked finger. Perfect.

Perfect wind, speed, no storms on the horizon. Perfect night.

He threw himself out of the window, and within a few seconds, a wind picked him up and threw him high, high enough that anyone with night vision would see someone about as big a s a sparrow. He had been higher before, but the wave of adrenaline still caught him.

The wind was slanted upward, and his glider went with the wind, but Conor knew that if he went any higher he might overshoot his landing spot. He tilted his glider and strained his left arm by pushing down. The glider lost momentum and started to drop. Conor up righted himself in his glider and started falling, until he felt a draft rushing past his cheeks, pulling them back, and he opened them and was immediately propelled forward by the fast wind. The Streetlight illuminated the town below, but he had no time to enjoy it, he was too busy messing with the steering bar to keep his craft level to notice. He was going faster than ever before, and subconsciously enjoying it, the rush of the air. Sooner than normal he saw the edge of town, and the patch of grass that he needed to land on. He started to look for the signs of a slower draft to dip down onto, and saw something else. A scuffle.

He looked closer and saw a classic scene, a group of men being held at gunpoint by another group of armed men. He didn't have to hear them, but the general message got across. Give us everything of value.

He didn't stop to think about his actions. He immediately wrapped his glider into the straight line that would cause it to stop riding daft's. It fell, fast. He opened them about fifteen feet above the men, the sudden updraft slowing him down. It jerked p ward, but didn't slow him down enough. Conor stuck out his riding boots, and knew from personal experience that men made soft landings.

His heels caught unto the man's hood and Conor had come down too suddenly, dragging the man with him quite a distance before the glider stopped moving, the man screaming. Conor did a little somersault to land while drawing his sabre. Another gust of wind caught his wings at the end, making it look even more impressive. The other man was out cold, and he faced three more men, no big deal. He slashed down on one mans arm, brought a leg around to trip him, and not only tripped him, but was elevated a few feet into the air by the motion, and the foot continued into the other man's face.

He landed on the balls of his feet and sheathed his sword in the same motion. He nodded at the men and felt an easy breeze to ride coming and jumped into the air, disappearing into the night, the darkness had swallowed him.

Conor was back in school, feeling refreshed. He attacked his page of maths, with vigor. He was listening to one boy recount something, and understandably he was interested.

"So my dad was about to get robbed last night, and a giant bat thing suddenly appeared out of nowhere and beat the pudding out of all the bad guys."

"A bat. Really?"

"Well, he wasn't sure what it was. It was a dark night though."

Rylee shot him a look from across the room and Conor tried to look interested in what he was doing. He felt the laser stare boring into is brain and looked up sheepishly, shrugged, and moved ont the next problem.

Happy Halloween! Yeah, this is my present. Im handing out candy this year, so I will get a white sheet, cut out 2 holes, and but black sots all over it, and have a plastic bag of rocks. If you got that, you rock. No pun intended. My birthday is on Nov 1, so give me a present and review.


End file.
